


Reflect.

by overbiter



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Eye Trauma, Feelings Realization, Ghost Drifting, M/M, Missing Scene, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 18:00:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20934380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overbiter/pseuds/overbiter
Summary: We match, Newt had said to him, pointing between both of their faces as if Hermann wouldn’t know what he meant.





	Reflect.

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was originally part of a 2019 fictober list that I never got past the first prompt of, so now I've chosen to just publish it as it's own short thing! Enjoy <3

Hermann finds it all a bit overwhelming, standing in the little bathroom attached to his dormitory. He’s staring at himself in the mirror, still reeling a day later at the fact that there’s a day later to reel over at all, prodding at his bloodshot eye with some trepidation. He winces at the way it still stings, and wonders, not for the first time, if he should have pressed medical harder to give him an eye patch until the damage healed. It _will_ heal, they had assured Hermann (as would Newton’s, along with the sprained wrist and the multiple bruised ribs he had acquired while tumbling through the streets of Hong Kong). He tugs a bit at the skin below the angry red rim of his bottom lid, fighting the urge to blink as his eye waters. 

_We match_, Newt had said to him, pointing between both of their faces as if Hermann wouldn’t know what he meant (as if Hermann could have forgotten being plunged headfirst into the drift, the blue-tinged shock of it slicing through him as he tethered himself to the mind of a monster. As if he could have forgotten the way Newton’s hand had felt in his when he’d finally grasped it, the bits of gravel that had stuck to his skin with rain and sweat digging into Hermann’s palm as he flailed around like a _fool_ in the goddamned eleventh hour, of all times-). Hermann had felt the firm weight of Newton’s other hand (warm, even through his layers), pressed firmly on his shoulder as he’d yanked Hermann back into his arms, breath hot as he laughed a bit hysterically into the crook of his neck. Newton had clung to his elbow later, both of them exhausted and giddy and still catching their breath, pressed against a far wall so Hermann could stay clear of the jostling, growing crowd filling LOCCENT. Hermann had insisted they go to the medbay when the shock finally began to wear off, becoming increasingly aware of the sharp ache creeping back into his leg. When the two of them had been cleared to return to their bunks, Newton’s wrist wrapped in a brace and moderately strong pain pills administered to the both of them, Newton rejoined him and kept his fingers curled securely around Hermann’s forearm the entire walk back. 

Hermann had extracted himself from Newton’s side with no small amount of displeasure (at the lack of contact, at the look on Newton’s face as his eyes darted to the floor) to head to his own quarters, alone. It was a welcome change, however: the quiet time to lie in the dark and try to process the events of the past few days (days, the fact that it had all happened so fast was something alone to wrap his head around), to try and disentangle the haphazard cat’s cradle of his and Newton’s mind, pick at the strands he found there, see what they led to. He had fallen asleep, ruined blazer and all, and woken up far too early without a single thread to follow. 

He’d found himself here, in the bathroom, fretting with his injuries, agonizing over the state of his relationship with Newton now that the apocalypse had been successfully thwarted. What, exactly, were they to each other now, after a decade of close quarters and bickering over instant coffee? After Newton on the floor and Hermann crouched beside him, trembling hands splayed across his face, clutched tight in his collar? After _I’ll go with you_ and Newton clinging to him as the war clock ticked to zero? There are no more kaiju, no need to stay up until three in the morning and stare at strings of numbers until his eyes hurt. No more shouting himself nearly hoarse over his unprofessional colleague’s music taste, his inappropriate work attire, his disregard for basic lab safety. It is very likely that soon the two of them will be dismissed from the PPDC, the Jaeger Program having served its purpose, and Hermann may very well never see Newton again. The thought of it sends him into freefall, the rug he’d been firmly planted on for ten years now pulled out from under him.  


_We match_, Newt had said to him, and of course, he’d been right. Hermann had long given up on trying to parse just how Newton had slotted himself so comfortably into his life, somewhere between the first letter he’d sent back and the drink Hermann had thrown at him after the conference in Munich, whatever delicate thing they’d been building between them shattered in a hotel bar. Newton spent his days cutting things up and taking them apart, but only to build something better: to understand, to find something true. Hermann is reminded of the machine Newton had cobbled together with garbage and thinks he really should have seen this coming, should have predicted it; Newton so effortlessly filling the empty spaces with sound and color.  


_We match_. _No_, Hermann wants to say now, staring past his reflection under the fluorescent light, _we compliment each other_. He thinks of Newton, down the hall, imagines him curled up on top of his unmade sheets with the velcro of his wrist brace digging into his cheek. _There is a part of me that fits so neatly around the shape of you. (I felt you in the snag of a memory; father won’t look at me, but it’s your anger that burns in my throat.) I don’t think I can live without you._ He thinks of the red ring around Newton’s eye that mirrors his own. _I think I have been in love with you for a very long time._  


His hand, curled around the edge of the sink, tightens as it falls into place. 

He’s stumbling back into the bedroom and grabbing his cane before he can even register what he’s doing, pressing on before his nerves get the better of him. The brightness of the hallway makes him see spots (later, he will march up to medical and insist on an eyepatch) as he comes to a standstill outside Newton’s door.

_I am in love with you and I want you to stay._

_I’m twelve years old and I’m supposed to be in my tent sleeping but the grass is cool and wet against the back of my neck and when I look at the stars, the constellations come more easily to me than I expected them to. I’m twenty-three and I’m on the phone with my dad and he’s crying and every television in the house is turned on to the news but I don’t feel as alone as I remember.  
Do you understand?_

Hermann lifts his trembling hand to the door, but Newton has already pulled it open.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on tumblr @jareddvnn/twitter @buddyfuckr!
> 
> also worth noting that this first one is loosely based on an olddddd old old piece of art by saltbay @ tumblr that's stuck with me all these years!! :')))  
https://saltbay.tumblr.com/post/65210530015/assorted-newts-n-hermanns


End file.
